Blood of Dragons

Malta gleamed in the yellow light of the torches and lanterns, and with a strange thrill, Thymara recognized the Queen of the Elderlings. No wonder all of Jamaillia had seen her so, commanding with words as compelling as the glamour of the dragon. Thymara was suddenly certain that if Tintaglia could feel Malta’s words, she would take heart from them.



‘We fly!’ Rapskal roared in response. His voice had gone husky and wild. His eyes glared with fury and the set of his mouth made him a stranger to Thymara. He paced among the churning Elderlings and dragons, seeming suddenly taller. ‘My armour! My spear!’ he cried aloud. ‘Where are my servants? Send them for my armour. We must fly tonight. We cannot wait for light, for by then she may have gone into eternal darkness. Rise up and seize your arms. Ready the dragon baskets! Bring forth the battle harness!’



Thymara stared at him, open-mouthed. She felt caught alone in a vortex of whirling times. Tellator. Tellator spoke in that tone of command, Tellator strode like that. All around her, dragons were rearing and trumpeting furiously. Keepers darted among them, some imploring their dragons to stay safely here, to not try to fly in darkness, while some of the keepers had moved clear of a horde of dragons shaking out their wings and snapping their necks to fill their poison glands. Rapskal’s peculiar behaviour seemed to have gone unnoticed.



He strode toward her, a clenched-teeth smile on his face. She froze as he took her in his arms and held her to his heart. ‘Have no fear, my darling. A hundred times have I gone into battle, and always I have returned to you, have I not? This time will be no exception! Have faith in me, Amarinda. I will safely return to you, both honour and life intact. We will turn back any that dare to enter our territory uninvited!’



‘Rapskal!’ She shouted his name and broke free of his embrace. Seizing him by the shoulders, she shook him as hard as she could. ‘You are Rapskal and I am Thymara. And you are not a warrior!’



He stared at her oddly as he drew himself up taller. ‘Maybe not, Thymara, but someone must fight, and I am the only one who has a dragon willing to carry me. I have to go. Those cruel murderers have attacked a queen dragon, seeking to butcher her like a cow! It cannot be tolerated.’



The voice was Rapskal’s and the very earnest stare was his too, but the cadence of his voice and the words he used were Tellator’s. She tried again. ‘Rapskal, you are not him. And I am not Amarinda. I am Thymara.’



His eyes seemed to focus on her again. ‘Of course you are, Thymara. And I know who I am. But I also bear Tellator’s memories. The price of his memories is a small one, and that is to honour the life of the man who gave them to me. To continue his duties and work.’ He leaned closer to her and peered into her eyes as if looking for something. ‘As you should honour Amarinda’s memories by continuing her tasks. Someone must, Thymara, and that someone is you.’



She looked at him and shook her head. She became dimly aware of Tats standing beside them, watching them both intently. She could take no time for him now, regardless of what he thought. She held tight to Rapskal and spoke earnestly. ‘Rapskal, I don’t want you to be Tellator. I don’t want to be Amarinda. I want us to be us, and whatever we do, I want it to be our own decision, not some continuation of someone else’s life.’



He gave a small sigh and shifted his gaze to Tats. ‘Watch over her, my friend. And if I do not return, think well of me.’ His eyes met Thymara’s again. ‘Some day, you will understand. And sooner, I think, would be better than later. For the sake of my honour and my word. Heeby! Heeby, to me!’



He turned away from her. Some other woman from another time exclaimed, ‘Your sword! Your armour!’ She very nearly ran after him.



But Tats was at her side, holding firmly to her arm. He spoke by her ear in the milling chaos of dragons and keepers. ‘He has neither, and never has had them. Thymara. Come back to me. You cannot stop him. You know that.’



‘I know.’ She wondered if Tats spoke of Rapskal charging off to fight a battle weaponless, or of his assumption of another man’s life and duties. She looked at the man beside her. Tears welled painfully in her eyes. ‘We’re losing him. We’re losing our friend.’



‘I fear you may be right.’ He pulled her into his arms, held her head against his chest to shield her as all around them, dragons trumpeted and then leapt from the ground to take flight. The wind of their beating wings battered them and their war cries buffeted her ears. In moments, they were high above them.



Thymara lifted her eyes to watch them go, but the overcast sky had swallowed them all, and only rain fell on her uplifted face.